


The Very Hurt You Sold

by ForrestKline



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForrestKline/pseuds/ForrestKline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is the king of bad decision making and Frank suffers for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You only hear the music when your heart begins to break

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys this is my first serious fan fiction so be gentle? And i really hope you like it! P.s the rating is only for this chapter so keep that in mind (I'm new to AO3 can you tell?)
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm a liar liar pants on fire

It was freezing outside but the body heat of the crowd kept me sweating and tugging at my jacket, not willing to pull it off and watch it be swallowed into a pit. I was advised not to come, -by Mikey mostly- but i had to see him, i had to know that he was okay. So i took the first flight from California to New Jersey.

He didn't know i was coming, he probably didn't ever know that he would see me again. Our silence only broken by a nonchalant mention of me -via twitter- regarding a topic I've long since forgotten. I wasn't very far up to the stage, i hadn't thought about how packed it would be, hadn't taken into consideration that most of the crowd would be grieving killjoys who didn't even know the name of the band, but just came to see Frank. I was up far enough as needed, close enough to see him pouring his soul into "Where Are My Fucking Pills?", enough to see just how "okay" he was.

His eyes we're dark and empty and you knew he meant every word he spoke into the mic, I watched him in an intimate trace, my eyes never left his- but he didn't feel them. "I can come clean" His groans sounded nothing less than painful. "You can trust me" i almost screamed _i know_ . I bit my lip, catching my flaw in my teeth "Rest your hopes on my lips and taste my venom, let my sorrow weigh you down and feed upon you" My knees almost gave out. I had been watching Frank, he didn't know i was, but i was. Watching his blog, reading all he poetry over and over to the point where i had them completely memorized. Reading over and over and _over_ again the letter he wrote regarding mychem "I breathed the band" i breathe you, frank. This isn't where i say "I don't know what went wrong with us" I know exactly what went on. I couldn't handle it. I couldn't handle what i felt, how much i loved him -how much i still did- and i ran away, as fast as i could. And i definitely couldn't handle when Frank asked me if there was anything to the 'stage gay'.

I wanted to to tell the truth, that he was all i wanted, that i was _gay_ but i didn't, i left him with a cruel "what else could there be" i saw the pain in his eyes, i ignored it, but i couldn't deny it. I couldn't deny that his hazel eyes roamed my nightmares from that day to the day i called the band together and told them that i just couldn't do it anymore. To be honest, it still haunts me. It seems his eyes have gotten darker and his mind is clouded with pain and hatred and i know its my fault, i know because he told me. He had cornered be in the bus after Ray and Mikey had gone to get a bite to eat and his voice was full of venom.

"You know, you _could_ have fucking said something, Gerard" he spat "You could have told me we weren't going anywhere _before_ emotions got involved. You fucking know how i feel about you, and i know how you feel about me! Don't you dare tell me that you're straight"

"Frank look there's nothing else to it, but proving a point and defying homophobia" I sounded anything but sympathetic

"And just what point where you proving when you fucked me when we had a hotel night? Huh? What point Gee?" The anger melted from his eyes replaced with anguish

"I was drunk Frank"

"You're a fucking liar"

"There isn't, was not, and never will be anything." I didn't even believe myself, but that's all i said before i grabbed my coat and went to catch up with Mikey and Ray. Frank never showed up that day.

My thoughts were interrupted by a very loud and familiar melody "I thought this was Death Spells" I mumbled to myself as Frank played the intro to attention reader and a wave of nausea hit me when i realized he has staring right at me. His eyes were piercing my soul to the point where i didn't even realize that he had basically maneuvered his mic to face me. My mind went completely blank as he spoke into the mic, still not averting his gaze

"This song out to an old _friend_ " He spoke trying to be as firm as he could, i heard the uncertainty in his voice as loudly as i could hear the anger. and the emphasis on 'friend' made me shiver I was completely and irrevocably lost in his voice and only shaken back into reality as i heard him scream 'scent' and realized that his poker face was gone and sorrow plagued his eyes, the ones glued on me. The whine in his voice wasn't as prevalent anymore, it had been so many years. I realized i missed that whine, probably hidden in all the bitterness i had brought upon him, and on myself. He couldn't possibly have missed the way I treated my fans now, and probably chuckled to himself out of pity and the understanding that i brought this all onto myself. I saw the unmistakeable way his eyes narrowed when he sang "I hope to see the day that you fade" And _knew_ that lyric was _especially_ aimed at me. It hurt really badly too I saw tears well up in his eyes as he screamed "Ripping apart at my heart" and my own tears were already staining heavily staining my cheeks because, what the fuck have i done? "My heart fades! My heart fades!" He screamed, his voice cracking on the second 'fades' as he crashed to his knees I was going to throw up all over the crowd i knew it- but i didn't. It just stayed stationary in my throat as i cried. I tore my eyes away from his i couldn't bare the realization that i basically tore _both_ of our hearts out of our chests But he didn't tear his eyes away until he was done screeching "A true friend stabs you in the front" at me and leaving right after "Burn this mother fucker down!" tossing his guitar, barely waiting to see where it landed.

Thankfully, it landed in the arms of a crazed fan who fainted immediately after touching it, allowing one of the security guards to get a hold of it before it was swallowed into the crowd, just like my jacket a few seconds after i heard someone screeching my name. I felt a sharp tug and i hit the ground head first. Everything went black.


	2. Tonight is dead and tomorrows shall wait in the wings.

The next thing I knew I was seated at an old wooden table, in a house that i knew all too well. There were no roof or walls but the windows were where they _should_ have been if there were. The sky- well, there wasn't one, just a blank abyss. So i kind of figured it was a dream. A little blue bird flew through the window and perched itself on the chair next to me. I flinched, alarmed by the rupture of the deafening silence.  
  
"You okay?" it chirped.  
  
“Yeah I... am I?"  
  
"I don't know. You took a pretty hard fall there, Pansy."  
  
"P-Pansy..."  
  
Why did that sound so fucking familiar?  
Grandma Helen climbed through the window and sat in the chair, my new feathered friend squawked and flew away hastily.  
  
"Gerard." she said firmly.  
The ground began shaking and I grabbed the table instinctively for support.  
  
"Grandma, I-"  
  
"Gerard." She repeated firmer, cutting me off.  
I couldn't reply as the shaking became a little more violent.  
  
"Gerard. Hey buddy, wake the fuck up" My grandma's voice lost its femininity and the windows fell off of the, i guess, _invisible_ walls and shattered.  
I plummeted out of the chair.  
  
"Gee? Gee wake up!"  
  
My eyes fluttered open.  
  
"Thank God. You're an idiot, Gee, did you know that?" Frank said leaning away from my face, probably trying his best to look like he didn't just almost have an anxiety attack.  
Oh, Franks guitar, Pansy. Okay.  
  
"Of course you did" He added bitterly.  
  
Do you know that I had to cancel the concert, refund the tickets, and stay with you at the hospital all night?” He didn't seem angry. He used a passive tone like you would use for just stating facts.  
  
"What happened last night?"  
  
"Well," His face turned into sarcastic smile right away and I could feel a shit storm coming. "I had to crowd surf over to where you were lying unconscious and fight away the fan girls because they were so busy mauling you they didn't realize who is was."  
  
"Thanks I-"  
  
"You're an idiot" He repeated. "They realized eventually and I convinced them to give you some room but there was blood under you from your head. So you can just imagine how that went." He walked over from my side of the bed to his, scooting up to sit next to my pillow.  
  
"I still have a headache from all their screaming."  
It all came flooding back to him and it was horrifying. It tactfully probably could have all been avoided by just wearing a hood.  
  
"..They were screaming 'Frerard'" he mumbled turning away from me.  
  
  
"Oh" I said, sitting up "Frank, I-"  
  
"Don't, Gerard." he snapped.  
  
"Can you actually let me speak?" I didn't mean it to sound as bitchy as it did. But it did.  
  
"Sure"  
  
"Thanks, Frank. For everything. I really appreciate it. I could have died or something." I scooted closer to him and pushed my back against the headboard. Our legs touched and I shivered slightly. It could have been mistaken for a cold shake so it was okay.  
  
"Well, you had a slight concussion, a cut in your head, and the doctor put you on a pill I had to force feed you while you slept and that was too long for anyone to ever pronounce or remember." Even though he didn't look me in the eyes, I knew the hurt in his were back, and I much preferred the anger, honestly.  
  
"Thank you, so much" I said finally catching his eyes.  
I held his eyes for a cool second before he broke our gaze by looking down.  
  
"Yeah well anything for-"  
He cut himself off with "Hey are you hungry? I heard you're vegetarian now and I’ve got quite the supply of 'cruelty-free' specialties"  
  
"I've already hindered you enough Frank..."  
  
"That's a yes. Vegan bacon it is!" And for the first time in a long while, in way too long, I saw Franks grin. Maybe smiling didn't mean much to him but that was the grin that made me quit drugs, got me sober, and gave me a reason to wake up in the morning.  
  
"You're too good to me, Frankie." I meant it.  
  
"I know, Gee." he scooted to the end of the bed and paused for a second before lifting himself off the bed and slightly limping to the door. How didn't I notice that?  
  
"You're hurt." I also didn't mean to sound as alarmed as I did, but I did. This earned me a chuckle from Frank who replied  
  
"Worth it, motherfucker" as he walked into the kitchen leaving me to wrap myself in thoughts, speculations, and blissful memories  
  
Nothing about Frank’s house had changed.  
His bedroom was just the way I had remembered it. The walls coated in dark blue paint, harboring very little pictures- very little anything at all. Only a few band posters on the wall adjacent to his bed and at the opposite of it, the painting I drew him for his birthday. It was one of my favorite paintings I've ever done; a portrait of our lady of sorrows with the color scheme of bullets, done on 2in. thick cement. He said it was the best present he had ever gotten and we put it up together that night, we hammered 100 nails around the sides while it wasn't completely dry, and gorilla glued it to the wall so no one could ever take it out and automatically regretted it when he thought he would have to move out the next year.  
  
The landlord went up on the rent and Frank said it was much too expensive for something that he; Firstly, wasn't paying for, and secondly, was only in for a few months out of the year all together when we weren't on tour. He had found the perfect place a few weeks later; very affordable and much better, in his former opinion, then the one he had already. The first thing I did was call a repairman and ask him to take the picture out of the wall, which he had explained was completely impossible to do without cutting into the wall, which we would have to replace, and that would be completely acceptable if that was all we would have had to do- it wasn't. We would have to replace the wall and the ceiling that went over it, along with having all the flooring in the kitchen replicated because apparently they didn't make it anymore so we would _have_ to get a newer and much more expensive one because the owner wanted the house 'just the same as it was'. Frank eventually seemed to give up because, face it, that was a lot of money for a house he didn't own. We all helped Frank move into his new one and everything was settled until he went back into his old house for a once-over. It was all ready, all of his furniture was in the new house and the boxes were in the U-Haul. He came back out apologizing profusely, insisting that there was no way that he could move because of all the 'memories' and just the thought of leaving a house he had invested so much money in made him sick to his stomach; so we put everything back. The next day he called the landlord and bought the house for quite a pretty penny- way out of his price range. We tried our best to talk him out of it but he didn't even humor the idea, his mind was set. 

To this day, he won't admit that he stayed for the painting.  
  
I took a break from my stroll down painful memory lane and pushed my legs over the side of the bed, steadying myself shortly before taking a wobbly stand. My head was throbbing so I decided to go ask Frank for some pills. I walked out of his room and down the hallway to the kitchen, trying not to address all the other memories that came to mind.

The kitchen still had the same creaky wooden flooring, chipping away at where it met the olive green walls and resting gently under patches of multi colored rugs that shouldn't fit with the decorum but did, and it did well. And, hey, there was the table that I saw in my drug induced coma dream.  
  
"Food’s done." Frank was standing next to the windowsill holding a plate of vegan bacon, diced potatoes, pancakes, and a cup of orange juice. He placed it down, next to the other plate and matching cup that I assumed was his and I brought my attention to his faded pink cooking apron; one that me and the guys thought would be pretty funny to buy after his 'I burn everything and call it Cajun' comment. I was beginning to think he was doing it on purpose. But I had no desire to even ask in case I hit a touchy topic and made Frank despise me even more than he obviously already did.  
  
"This is really great of you, Frank. You didn't have to do this."  
  
"Well, you've been out for two days. I assumed that-"  
  
"Two days?!" I was as much horrifies as I was worried and shocked that Frank didn't just call Mikey and kick me out before I even woke up. But of course, him and Sarah were probably already on vacation so even if he tried he most likely wouldn't have much luck.  
  
"Yeah, two days." He repeated nonchalantly.  
  
"Well why did you act like it only happened last night when I asked you?"  
  
"I didn't want you to freak out or anything. The doctor said to play it easy for a while after you wake up, said you shouldn't do anything too active for about a week.”  
  
"A week..."  
  
"Yeah. So you're going to stay here."  
  
"What?! I mean I- What?"  
  
"Yeah, you definitely can't go home.”  “Do you still have headaches? Do you feel light headed and weak in the knees?"  
  
"Well yeah but-"  
  
"Then you're not going home."  
  
Why was he doing this? After everything I did to him? I told myself I would keep my queries to myself I, again, really didn't want to upset Frank. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to apologize, and wanted Frank to accept it. We could go back to the way it was before I ruined everything and went to shit and we ended up here; from best friends to best _strangers_. But my tongue didn't listen to me.  
  
"Why are you doing this?"  
Frank either looked like I had just punched him in the face or killed one of his hundreds of dogs.  
  
"What exactly are you asking?" He said, still looking completely shocked "Are you asking why I'm helping you or how pathetic I must be to come crawling back to you?"  
  
"Frank, I never said that."  
  
"But you _thought_ it" he snapped.  
  
"Frank, if anything I've come crawling back to you!" I snapped back, feeding into the anger produced by such horrid allegations.  
  
"But you _can't_ crawl back to me because _you're_ the one who left!"  
  
"Fuck... I'm so sorry" I couldn't feel angry anymore, this was actually all my fault.  
  
"Wait, what do you mean crawling back to me? Gee, why did you come to the show? To remind yourself how much better off you are than me, after you left me and then I guess you didn't think that would hurt me enough so you took my band away from me?"  
  
I didn't know what to say, so I just stayed silent and nauseated just like that the concert.  
  
"That was too far. I'm sorry, Gee..."    
  
'No, you we're right" My voice came only as I whisper and the words hurt my throat, the regret pushing up the acid in my stomach.  
  
"No, that was too far."  
  
I still didn't know what to say.  
  
"Let's just eat, Okay? I'm sorry. I know the band thing wasn't your fault" He sat down and pointed at my chair for me to do the same, so I did.  
  
"But it was."  
  
And we both knew it was. As much as I knew Frank wanted to- he didn't correct me this time.  
After a few minutes of silence, half way through our breakfast, Frank broke it.  
  
"You know, living in 'Sunny California’,” he said with sarcasm and air quotations "may have made you forget your roots!"  
  
"Oh?" I asked grinning up at him from my meal, which I was surprised, actually tasted so well, trying to recollect if I saw any evidence of any hidden made or chef of some sort because, seriously, since when could Frank cook?  
  
"Yeah, I may have to show you the ropes again."


End file.
